May 2005
Fuyang, Anhui
PR China

Recently I was sitting at the computer catching up on returning email messages when the doorbell rang. I walked downstairs to answer it, wondering if the caller would wait or leave. I looked through the peephole but could not see clearly the face of my visitor. I opened the door, and it was the little old peasant lady that sells fermented rice for porridge. She handed me a small bag of her merchandise and stepped quickly off the porch. When she was on the sidewalk she turned and put her hands over her heart and from her weathered wrinkled face she smiled the sweetest smile. Then she clasped her hands together as if she were about to pray and shook them in the gesture for “thank you!”

Our story

Not long after arriving in Fuyang, I found that I enjoyed and even looked forward to listening to the many sellers calling out about their wares or their services. I could not understand what they were saying, but I loved hearing them off in the distance on their bikes or three-wheeled bicycle-trucks. My soon-to-be-favorite caller was a granny peasant lady, Lao Duan, with a three-wheeled bicycle-truck. In the back she carried something in a pan and covered it with a board. (Her call is so distinctive that I would not even attempt to describe it because I could never do justice by describing it with words. I have recorded it so that I can bring her voice home with me.)

One day as I walked through the north gate, the lady that sells me eggs, Lao Hu, indicated to me that I should buy some of Lao Duan’s product. I did not know what it was, how to buy it, how to eat it, or how to cook it. Lao Hu told me and showed me how much it cost, how to cook it, what it was, the whole bit. Of course, she told me in Chinese. I was so new to China that I did not even understand the price. So, to make things less complicated, I reached in and pulled a few yuan and jiao from my pocket. The best I could tell, Lao Hu took five jiao, which is about six cents. All the neighborhood ladies had congregated to see what the foreigner was going to do. As Lao Hu stepped forward to handle the situation for me, the neighbor ladies standing around debated about how much of the stuff should be put into the bag. I knew I would accept whatever their decision was. Walking away with my purchase, the ladies all gave me a farewell smile. I carried the “rice stuff” home to cook somehow. Thus, began my relationship with Lao Duan

.I told Billy my story and told him I was going to cook it, but I was not sure how. Thank goodness Billy has a stomach made of iron! I recalled that some students had cooked rice porridge for us once, so I would try to copy that recipe. I went to the supermarket and bought China’s equivalent to fruit cocktail. Into the pan I put the fermented rice and boiled it for a short while. I added the jar of fruit and thickened it slightly with cornstarch. It was edible, but neither Billy nor I really had a taste for it. We decided sugar would help, and it did.

Within the next few days, I heard the melodious call again. Now I knew what she was selling. As I walked through the north gate, she asked if I wanted some. Of course, I would take some for wu jiao, one half of a yuan. As she started putting it into a bag, she giggled and jabbered and giggled some more.

I brought it home, but I did not eat it because we really did not like the taste. On occasion, Lao Duan would ask me if I wanted some. So, I would purchase the fermented rice about once a week. I started giving Lao Duan one yuan instead of five jiao. It is beyond my reasoning how she can make this stuff, sell it for five jiao, and live off this piddling bit of money. I told Billy that I could help her just by buying her rice and giving her a little extra. Now, after almost two years, Billy and I have developed a taste for it and we actually like the porridge made from fermented rice.

During Spring Festival, Lao Duan came by the apartment selling her goods. I told her I wanted some. Again, she giggled and smiled. As she gave me the bag, I gave her a little extra yuan for the holiday. She refused it in the polite Chinese way. As I took her hand to close it around the money, I could tell that her brown leathery hands were splitting from being cold. Her chapped hardworking hands were showing the oncoming condition called chilblain. After she left, I went upstairs to my Uncle Burt’s Beeswax product stash and found a container of green smelly salve. I took it too her and showed her that it was for her hands. Now, Lao Duan never wants me to pay her for the fermented rice that I buy from her. Saturday, she came down the sidewalk in front of the apartment. I went to the door to tell her I wanted some rice. She just giggled and told me to go inside and get a bowl. As I turned to walk in, she followed behind me and looked into every room downstairs. I got so tickled because I am sure she had never been in a foreigner’s home and while she had the chance she wanted to see how these strange people lived. I showed her the living room and she just jabbered and giggled. She was having a good time looking around and I was enjoying her expressions of excitement. I would love to have heard her retelling the story to her neighbors later.

This morning as I was walking through the large market, I met Lao Duan on her tricycle truck. She said something to me. I took it to mean that she would see me at the north gate market later. My reply was, “ha,” short for “hao de,”meaning “okay.”

As I was sitting at the computer catching up on email messages, the doorbell rang. I opened the door and it was sweet little Lao Duan with her gray hair braided and pinned around her head with her traditional jacket and blue peasant pants. She handed me a small bag of fermented rice and stepped away from the door before I could pay her.

What she had said to me earlier in the market meant much more. I am sure she said, “I will bring you some of my fermented rice to your door later. Even though I have so little, I have enough to share with you. I will give it to you as a gift because you are my friend. Please accept it as thanks from my heart.”
So I did.

Fields worked by peasants once surrounded this college campus. As the city of Fuyang expanded, many peasants lost their farms to urban growth. The displaced peasants had to find other means of making a living besides farming. Lao Duan is one of those peasants. She is about 80 years old and has been selling fermented rice for at least 20 years.

Pray for the hardworking peasants in China. They work very hard with little pay or respect.

Peace to all,

Vickie

The 2005 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 245